


Bur

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: It’s game night and Prompto sucks.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	Bur

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s losing. _Badly_. It’s one thing to lose to Ignis, who may as well be a Seventh Astral with Supreme Video Game Skills for his element, and it’s not _that_ bad losing to Gladiolus, because he’s marginally older and Prompto can fool himself into thinking that means something, but having Noctis give him such a thorough trouncing is simply unacceptable. Usually, he and Noctis are on about the same level. He uses all his free non-friend time to practice just to keep up. But somehow the three of them together have combined into some ultra-mega-invincible opponent that keeps leaving Prompto way back in the dust. 

He keeps sinking further back into the couch, wholly aware of how much he _sucks_ , and it only gets more embarrassing as the track scrolls by. The television blares a bright white in the bottom left corner where he’s careened off a bridge again, his car smashing into a thousand tiny bits and taking forever to respawn. Then he’s on the track _an entire lap_ behind Ignis, and Prompto might actually cry.

That’d be ridiculous, of course. They’d tease him mercilessly. It’s only a game. Only game night. One of those few weekends where they’ve all managed to find time off together. It’s way past dinner, but Gladiolus couldn’t come until then, and Ignis has been in and out all day with important phone calls. Noctis has been sitting on the couch so long that the indent around his rear might actually be permanent. It’s a pretty orange-purple outside the wide windows of Noctis’ penthouse apartment, casting the whole living room in the dull glow of the sunset, but Prompto just feels a sullen-grey blue. There’s not even any popcorn left to cheer him up. He thinks he ate too much anyway. His hands feel greasy. Or sweaty. He hates that he’s probably getting Noctis’ controller all gross, and when Noctis figures that out, he’ll break off their friendship like he should’ve done years ago. 

Prompto still can’t believe he’s squished onto a three-person couch with four of the coolest, smartest, hottest guys in Insomnia. He’s got the prince on his right, practically leaning on his shoulder, all snuggled up to his side like it’s no big deal. Ignis is crammed between his left shoulder and the armrest, both sock-covered feat folded against the cushions and wedged beneath Prompto’s thigh. Gladiolus is on Noctis’ other side, casually leaning against the backrest, one massive arm draped over the top, fingertips down around Prompto’s shoulder. They’re all dressed in designer clothes, with perfectly styled hair, rich cologne, just generally _awesome_ auras, and then there’s Prompto, in a sleeveless shirt from a thrift shop and ripped jeans that aren’t even ripped ironically. He’s just had them too long. 

He has jackets too, but he didn’t wear one, because he’s not as smart as them, and now he’s paying for it. To top everything off, he’s _cold_ , even with Noctis and Ignis blanketing his sides and Gladiolus’ arm at his back. He’s cold and lame and _sucks_ at Justice Monsters X even though he was doubling Noctis’ high score just last week. He flew too close to the sun. 

His body actually wrenches with the force of a particularly violent shiver. Noctis grunts and just keeps racing towards the finish line. But Ignis is ever-observant, always caring, far kinder than Prompto deserves. He hits pause, much to Gladiolus’ palpable annoyance, and turns to ask Prompto, “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” The concern in Ignis’ eyes actually makes it worse. The last thing he needs is for them to realize he made another dumb mistake. He tries not to answer, but Ignis reaches over and strokes Prompto’s trim bicep, lips twisting into a frown. 

“Goodness, you’re freezing.”

“That’s what you get for trying to look cute instead of dressing for winter,” Gladiolus teases, ruffling Prompto’s hair, which just makes him blush from ear-to-ear, because he totally _was_ trying to look cute and can’t tell if he succeeded or not. And now his hair’s messy. He’s totally flattered if Gladiolus really thinks he looks _cute_ , and he’s horribly embarrassed if Gladiolus is just making fun of him. 

“Yeah, you are cold,” Noctis throws in, reaching over to rub Prompto’s other arm like it’s no big deal. “I’ll go grab you something, ‘kay?”

“What?” Prompto squawks, reaching for Noctis even as he’s climbing off the couch. “No, it’s fine, really—” Noctis bats his hands away and dodges out of reach, already bee-lining for the bedroom. Prompto calls after him, “It’s cool; we can keep playing!”

Gladiolus tilts his head back for a massive yawn that cuts Prompto off. Stretching out, he mutters, “Meh, I could use the break anyway. ...And maybe a pause will finally break up Spec’s winning streak.”

Ignis clicks his tongue, which seems to be a non-verbal: _Unlikely._

When Noctis reappears, he has a bundle of grey fabric in his hands. He unfurls it as he gets closer, holding up a giant hoodie that looks about twice his size. “Here, this is my fav; it’s super comfy—”

“Hey!” Gladiolus snarls, jerking up straight. “That’s mine! I was looking for that!”

“Mine now,” Noctis shoots back, sticking his tongue out at his shield like an unruly two year old. Gladiolus glares, and Prompto balks. 

“That’s okay. Really, bud, I appreciate it, but I couldn’t steal Gladio’s—”

“Oh, no, _you_ can wear it,” Gladiolus tells him, sounding surprisingly sincere, before nodding at Noctis. “I just didn’t say _this_ brat could!” 

Noctis rolls his eyes and tosses it at Prompto, who fumbles for it and drops his controller to the floor in the process. Noctis doesn’t look bothered by it, but Prompto automatically feels guilty, even though Noctis can easily buy another one. Scrambling to pull the controller back into his lap, Prompto hesitates over the hoodie. But Gladiolus tells him, “Go on, Prom. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure...?”

“Yeah, I love seeing tiny cuties in my big-man clothes.”

Ignis lets out a long-suffering sigh, and Noctis grumbles, “Did you just call me ugly?”

Gladiolus’ quipped response is lost on Prompto, because he’s busing drowning in his own racing pulse. Gladiolus definitely called him cute there. It still amazes him whenever anyone insinuates he’s _small_. But next to Gladiolus’s broad shoulders, he really is. He reluctantly pulls the hoodie over his head and nearly lets out a pleasured moan, because his problems are instantly solved. It’s no wonder it’s Noctis’ favourite. The plush lining is _so_ soft, and better yet, it’s so, so _warm_.

Noctis begrudgingly mutters, “I guess it does look better on you.” And before Prompto can splutter his disagreement, the game’s back on. Ignis has un-paused, and everyone’s grabbing for their controllers, yelping and jumping in. 

Ignis easily maintains the lead with an impressive one-handed grip on the controller. He uses the other to wrap around Prompto’s shoulders, giving them a little rub, like a loving mother tenderly warming up her beloved child. It’s the final straw—a smile tugs at Prompto’s lips, stretching so wide that he has to bite the inside of his mouth just to contain it. 

He’s in last place again. But he’s warm and _feels loved_ , so everything is better. He loves all three of them so much that he can’t stand it. 

But he loves Noctis best, because Noctis spectacularly fucks up on the final lap, clipping over a ramp and landing on Gladiolus’ monster truck, sending Gladiolus spinning out of control into Ignis’ sleek car, and the three of them explode in colourful fireworks while Prompto’s fruit cart streaks over the finish line, taking the gold cup.


End file.
